


A Warehouse, Overhaul and That Damnable Traffic

by Ariane_Rivendell



Category: Emergency!
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariane_Rivendell/pseuds/Ariane_Rivendell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Engine crew of 51 are anxious to return to quarters after a run - none more so than Captain Stanley, it seems....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warehouse, Overhaul and That Damnable Traffic

 

Mike Stoker halted Big Red in front of Station 51, sighed a little and moved his foot back as he looked out at the road. Captain Hank Stanley looked over at him and caught his engineer’s huff and slight turn of mouth. Stanley smiled in empathy with Stoker, for it was all Stanley could do not to scream with impatience, himself. Naturally, they had to return during the busiest traffic hour and all four lanes seemed to be filled with every vehicle in Los Angeles. 

Car after car streamed by. Hank noticed Mike’s leg swiveling at the knee in a languid but constant rhythm. Stanley’s arm twitched and he put his elbow on the window to keep himself from grabbing the megaphone. He cleared his throat and adjusted the lapel on his turnout coat. His entire body was trembling with a low buzz and all he seemed able to focus on was getting to the latrine for a few minutes to calm himself. Two hours of overhaul in a warehouse full of pornography of every kind – gay, straight and, apparently, everything in between - had surely been enough to drive even the most resolute prude to a hasty, private retreat. It had certainly done that to him. Hank remembered one area that contained innumerable sex toys and sex dolls, strewn everywhere. Like he needed to feel the heat more than he already had been…

Hank turned at another sigh from Stoker, shoulders hunched, his elbows on the steering wheel, as he waited interminably for a break in the unending onslaught of cars. 

“Mike, can’t you just ram a few cars out of the way?” Chet asked. “I’m sure Big Red’ll take it.”

“Sure, I could. But then I’d be doing a touch-up job on the paint instead of making chow.”

“And we _don’t_ want him distracted, Chet. He’s making spaghetti tonight,” Marco said.

“Ah, yeah. In that case, I don’t mind waiting another hour for this traffic to die down.”

“Well the station isn’t going anywhere, so there’s no use complaining,” Cap added. 

“Yeah, but… _we’re_ not going anywhere, either, Cap,” Chet pointed out. 

“Well, you’re right about that, Kelly. Look, I know you’re all starving, I am too, but too bad, ‘cause, if I have to wait, so will everyone else.” _And I know you all know what I mean…_

Mike flashed Cap a small grin, which, Hank noticed, lingered for several moments before Stoker turned his attention back to the road.

The infinite line of cars droned on and Hank was aghast that not one driver stopped out of common courtesy. _And not just to let us back in, either, but there’s a whole shift of firefighters that need some serious attention, not the least of whom is their_ captain, _who’s getting pretty damn antsy by the second…_ Nearly a full minute passed, until, finally, Stoker’s foot moved forward to the pedal and he straightened up in the seat, hands grasping the wheel. Hank peered out at the upcoming opening in the on-coming traffic. He turned his head to check the lanes of traffic around them, but a stabbing pain shot through him from the knot in his neck and he swore under his breath. He shifted in the seat and turned his whole body to see out the window. 

All clear, so far.

Hank turned back to the front.

A cruising VW van…

A funeral procession...

A loping delivery truck...

Hank checked his side again. _Well Hell’s Bells…_ “Go, Mike.”

Stoker blasted the air horn and then twice again in quick succession before swinging the massive rig across the lanes. Several approaching cars came to a stop and Hank waved a thanks to the drivers on his side while Mike backed Big Red up the drive and into the empty apparatus bay. 

It was all Stanley could do to keep his knee bouncing in nervous anticipation. _Finally!_ It hadn’t gone unnoticed at the fire scene that all of his guys had stolen long glances at the merchandise while knocking the fire down and it was the only time in recent memory where not one of his crew complained about doing overhaul. Chet and Marco seemed particularly…hell, he wasn’t even sure what the right word was. "Clingy" didn’t seem to fit, but there did seem to be an element of that with each other at the fire scene.

Cap heard Marco and Chet immediately dismount and in the side mirror, he saw Kelly make a beeline for the latrine. _Well, dammit._ Stanley sighed and grabbed the radio, “LA, Engine 51 in quarters.”

_“51.”_

The engine thrummed down and Stoker slipped out of the rig and banged the door shut. As Hank turned to step out, pain shot out from the knot in his neck and he cried out and swore. Stoker was there in an instant, a hand on the open door, worried eyes looking up at him. “Cap? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hank breathed, cocking his head to the opposite side. “I keep forgetting I can’t turn my head.”

“You get Johnny or Roy to take a look at you?”

“For this?” Hank rubbed his neck. 

“I can take a look at it, if you want.”

Images from the warehouse exploded in Hank’s mind and a surge of warmth plunged through his already elevated sense of awareness. _O-kay, not a good idea_. He waved off his engineer, “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got a few tricks I learned from some of the guys at my old station. C’mon, Cap. Let me take a look.”

Hank thought about it for a moment. While a massage was tempting, he wasn’t entirely sure he was stable enough to trust himself in his heightened state. _Oh for Pete’s sake. I’m the captain. I can keep control of myself._ Finally, he shrugged, “Alright.” It was better than yelping every time he tried to move.

Hank gingerly swung himself down from the rig but his foot skidded off the running board and he landed hard on the smooth concrete flooring. He leaned against Big Red, feeling embarrassed, and grabbed his neck to soothe the jarring from his hard landing while Stoker closed the cab door. 

“Where does it hurt?”

“Right here,” Hank rubbed the spot and moved his head to show the engineer.

Mike reached out and began to knead the sore spot. Hank was astonished; for a man with such slender fingers Mike’s hands were incredibly strong.

Mike stepped closer, to gain leverage then stepped closer, again, their bodies barely touching. Hank was consciously aware of Mike’s nearness and a warmth pulsed through him at such close, bodily contact and intimate tactility. Hank swallowed hard, trying to keep his senses alert and on duty, but his focus was being tugged further and further to Mike’s hands, his body, his soft breathing... Hank grimaced with a mix of pain and relief as Stoker hit the spot with just the right amount of pressure.

“This isn’t working,” Stoker said softly in his ear.

 _Like hell it isn’t…_ “I assure you, Mike, it’s working plenty—”

Mike bodily pressed Hank up against the Engine, arms on either side of him, holding him in place. In the half second his mind registered what was happening, Hank flattened himself against Big Red and quizzically stared at his engineer, “Mike, what’re you—?”

Mike’s lips found his captain’s and a scintillating pleasure coursed through Stanley, the question floating away on the incoming breeze and sapping all immediate objections. But despite his heightened arousal, Hank was still operating under his Captain’s mindset. He tried to move his head back further to escape but there was nowhere to go. He moaned in protest, bodily pushing forward to ease Mike off of him. 

Stoker broke contact and Stanley threw Mike and the open bay door a look of dismay. 

A small smile of reassurance crossed Mike’s face. He leaned in, tongue brushing lightly against Hank’s lips. Pleasure rippled through Stanley and he nearly forgot to breathe as the fight ebbed out of him. Mike gently grabbed the lapels of Cap’s turnout coat and, with Hank’s hands cupping his elbows, slowly lead his relenting captain into the dorm. 

Hank allowed Mike to guide him down the row of beds to his own bunk, hoping to feel those lips on him, again. Hazel eyes fixated on blue and a weight of tension and hope settled in Hank’s chest as Mike stepped close to him, lips almost brushing. His breathing deep and measured, Mike laid his hands on Hank’s chest and roamed up to his shoulders under his coat. Hank closed his eyes at the sensation, his body trembling, breathing ragged against the heaviness within him. Mike lifted the coat off and Stanley moved his arms to allow the heavy garment to slide off and it dropped with a _frlmp_ to the floor. 

Stoker leaned in again and brushed his lips against Hank’s before turning his head to get at the knot in his captain’s neck. Stanley nearly collapsed at the teasing touch, desperate hope and shattered promises mixed together in that ghostly caress.

“Mike…” was all Hank could barely manage, trying to convey everything he wanted, _needed_ , in that small whisper.

“Mm-hmm,” was the soft reply as Mike moved up to his ear, gently kissing, licking and biting.

While it was Hank’s ear getting tickled it was his groin that was feeling the full dose and Hank ground his hips against Mike to indicate he couldn’t take much more. 

Stoker came back around and planted his lips on Hank’s, his tongue licking, coaxing, teasing them to open. Hank acquiesced and gave in to feeling he and Mike playing with each other. The need to _feel_ overcame him and Hank grabbed at Stoker, holding him, hands roaming across his back and down to clutch his ass as Hank pressed up against him.

The kiss between them deepened, breaths snuffling against each other, Mike’s hands roaming Hank’s body, his ass, his back. He felt along Hank’s uniform and slowly undid each button, one by one. Not breaking contact, Mike pulled up on Hank’s shirt until it slipped out and he finished undoing the last remaining buttons. Mike gingerly brushed his fingers against Hank’s groin and felt Stanley’s arousal pressing back. Hank’s uniform shirt hung open awkwardly, bunched up against the engineer. Hank could feel Mike’s warmth on his chest, his abdomen and it heightened the erotic sensation of feeling Stoker against him.

Mike gently rubbed his knee against Cap’s swollen groin, making him whimper, and wedged himself between his captain’s legs while the palm of his hand traced down Hank’s chest, his abdomen, the front of his leg, only to bring his fingers up delicately against Hank’s inner thigh. It tickled Stanley straight to the groin and nearly brought him to his knees; the buzz in Hank’s body stroked into a roaring tremble that he could no longer ignore. 

“Down,” Mike tenderly whispered. Fully succumbing to the need that had been awakened in him, Hank did as requested and eased them both until he sat on the edge of his bunk. Mike leaned forward and guided Hank down flat onto the bed. 

_Shouldn’t be…doing this. Not good. Not good at all. And what if someone walks in…?_

With Stanley finally on his back, Mike broke contact and stood up, looking down at his captain, uniform shirt haphazardly open to expose skin and dark chest hair. Mike’s expression softened at the hurt and anger in Stanley’s hazel eyes as Mike stood over him, between Hank’s legs. Stanley laid back, eyes glued to Mike’s as the engineer traced gentle circles along Hank’s inner thighs and then brushed the bulge at his groin. Hank moaned at that last, unexpected touch and the shiver it sent through him. His body trembled even more at the hope of release and Hank’s breathing quickened. 

Mike suggestively slipped his gaze to Hank’s groin. Hank’s eyes followed and he watched in helpless, fascinated, erotic frustration as Mike grasped Hank’s belt and slowly, teasingly, unbuckled it. _Damn you, Mike…_ He un-threaded the ends through the loops on the front of Hank’s uniform pants and let them drop onto the bed.

Hank squirmed a little in anticipation, but Mike leaned forward onto the bed, and caught Hank’s mouth in his, his tongue teasing and coaxing Stanley’s arousal, further. Feeling that ancient need to thrust, Hank brought up his hips and connected with Mike, feeling Mike’s own arousal. Hank moved his hips to rub against him, stroking them both.

Mike chuckled in Hank’s mouth, and Hank enjoyed the sensation of the soft buzz it elicited. Mike’s lips trailed down Hank’s cheek as he moved down Hank’s body, to his throat, across the collarbone. He found a nipple and lingered on it, ignoring Hank’s momentary recoil from the touch, gently biting and then licking and sucking to soothe any pain he may have caused. Hank moaned gruffly, back arching, hands at Mike’s side, easing Stoker’s tucked shirt from his pants, then roaming his chest, his back. 

Mike moved off of him again and a desperate breath escaped from Hank. Mike’s hands caressed Hank’s exposed chest, his thumbs and fingers lingering and caressing Hank’s nipples before trickling down to his abdomen and then to his groin. 

A frenzied, breathy whimper was Hank’s only response and he watched Mike unbutton his uniform pants and then softly circle his fingers across his bulging pants. Hank tilted his head back against the bed.

“Mike, _please…_ ” Hank desperately whispered.

Mike unzipped the pants and Hank sighed in agonizing relief as he watched Mike pull the offending clothing down and free his erection. Pleasure plunged through him at the sight and feel of Mike grasping him with one hand and wrapping his mouth around him. 

_Oh god…_

Mike licked the tip and sucked gently while his hand began to stroke Hank in a slow rhythm. 

Hank’s breath hitched at the sight and feel of Mike stroking him and he rifled his hands through Mike’s hair, trying to get him to stop.

Mike did and looked up. “You want me to stop?” he whispered.

 _Yes, no, no, no, no…_ Hank couldn’t answer past his panting breathing, afraid of his own voice, afraid of actually saying ‘no’. 

Mike smiled a little and returned to his task. 

“Mike…” Hank whispered in encouragement. _Take me, goddamn it…before someone walks in… ___

Voices sounded from the latrine.

 _Shit!_ Stanley froze in terror and his mind raced to think how exactly this could be explained. He inwardly grieved as pleasure momentarily ebbed upon the possibility of being interrupted, yet the exhilaration of getting caught excited him. 

Marco and Chet, still in the latrine, peeked out through the door to see Mike and Cap engaged in each other. 

“See! I told you we weren’t the only ones,” Marco slapped Chet on the arm as they watched.

“Well, whaddya want, Marco, a medal?” Chet griped.

Marco paused and then his face brightened. “Hey, how about instead of a medal, you give me what Cap’s gettin’?”

Chet shrugged. “Okay.”

Chet planted a jaw-dropping kiss on his best friend, traced his hands slowly down Marco’s chest, unbuckled his belt, undid Marco’s pants and knelt down in front of him. 

Mike stroked faster with his hand and continued sucking and licking. With his free hand, Mike massaged the testicles, eliciting sheer pleasure to course through Hank’s body and Hank was sure he was going to die from sensation overload. He rifled his hands through Mike’s hair, vacillating between watching himself being pleasured and laying back, eyes closed to immerse himself in total sensation.

Doors banged shut in the bay. Hank froze again, yet Mike seemed entirely indifferent to any interruption and stroked Hank even faster, as if acquiescing to the thrill of being caught. 

_Good god…!_

Hank’s back arched as he wavered between succumbing to the bliss of Mike’s ministrations and worrying about what his returning paramedics would find.

Moments later, Roy walked in. “Hey, Cap, we’re back from Ram…part.”

_Oh god no, god no, god no… Mike stop, Mike stop, Mike stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…_

“Guess that warehouse fire got to everybody,” Roy observed.

Mike, completely unfazed, looked over at the senior paramedic, never stopping his stroking rhythm. “Hey, Roy? You know how to reach the prostate?”

Hank’s head snapped up and he stared at Mike in distress. _No, no, no, no…_ His male psyche screaming against the very idea of being penetrated.

DeSoto walked over and with a critical eye, began to instruct Mike in the most efficient, safest and pleasurable way for him to gain access to Hank’s prostate. Swallowing hard, Hank could feel his trousers being tugged further down and a sense of panic began to smolder.

But Mike threw him that look of reassurance, of trust, that he’d given him back in the bay.

Hank settled back onto his bunk, relishing only in his pleasure, finally not caring that his entire crew, rather literally, had now caught him with his pants down, yet the idea of being watched aroused him even more.

Then Mike’s voice, “Hey, Roy, hold him down, will you?”

_Hold him down…?!_

“Sure.” DeSoto climbed on the bunk and straddled Hank’s head between his knees as he knelt on the bed and pressed his shoulders down.

_What the…?!_

Hank felt a pressure urging entrance and, reflexively, his muscles tightened. Mike’s soft expression looked at him again. “Just relax. It’s okay,” he whispered.

With some effort, Hank relaxed and Mike eased a finger in gently to the soft encouragement of Roy, who continued to guide Mike into what he should be feeling.

White light bolted in Hank’s mind and he arched his back as Mike hit pay dirt. _Jesus Christ!_

Mike studied Hank’s reactions as he stroked him faster and faster, titillating the prostate, watching Hank’s chest rise and fall like an engine piston as he panted toward climax.

Roy gently brushed aside Hank’s shirt to expose him, fully, and he roamed his hands across Stanley’s chest, massaging the nipples, tickling his arousal.

Hank felt warmth billow through him, his whole body giving in to pure, unbridled delight. Orgasm was nearing, sheer pleasure was about to skyrocket him into the stratosphere…!

The airhorn blasted. Startled, Hank’s eyes flew open and it took him a few moments to orient himself. His body shuddered a little and Cap was glad he had opted to keep his turnout coat on. Mike swung Big Red across the lanes and Hank looked out his window to see several cars stopping to allow the massive rig to back in to the bay. Hank waved a thanks to them and tried to wrench his mind back to the here and now.

Cap heard Marco and Chet immediately dismount and in the side mirror, he saw Kelly make a beeline for the latrine. _Well, dammit_. Stanley sighed and grabbed the radio, “LA, Engine 51 in quarters.”

_“10-4, 51.”_

The engine thrummed down. As Hank turned to step out, pain shot out from the knot in his neck and he cried out and swore. Stoker flashed worried eyes over at him. “Cap? You okay?”

Hank threw Mike a wide-eyed look of alarm. _Oh no…_

**Author's Note:**

> Motivated by a depressingly bad day. May all of our bad days end...a little more satisfactorily. :-)


End file.
